


don't hurt me

by bloodrunsred



Series: just a little bit broken [6]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Child Abuse, Conditioning, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grooming, M/M, Physical Abuse, Punching, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 15:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17851892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/pseuds/bloodrunsred
Summary: Morty hated himself for melting into Rick's hugs, hated himself for not crying and not being afraid but he needed Rick to love him because if he didn't then no-one would. It was sick and wrong and he didn't like it but it took so much effort not to when Rick looked at him like he was the whole world, and held him like he mattered.





	don't hurt me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gubiegubes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubiegubes/gifts).



> this is super duper short but i want it published and out of my brain.
> 
> i feel like it's not descriptive enough but as i write this note it is 2:31am (i know, i need to get better publishing times), so leave ways for me to improve and i'll revise and add things in the morning (This piece has been killing me because i have no idea what's missing ughhhhh).
> 
> click [HERE](https://xbloodrunsredx.tumblr.com/) for my tumblr!

Morty was angry.

He was seething, fists at his side, trembling with leftover adrenaline as Rick stood opposite him, looking as apathetic as he usually did. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right and he had nearly gotten Morty  _killed_. Rick stepped forward, confident and sure that he would get what he wanted and Morty took too much joy in pushing him away, despite the parts of him screaming that he was making a dumb decision.

"Yo - yo, what's wrong, Mortster?" Rick asked like he didn't already know, hands up like he wasn't stepping closer again and waiting for Morty to calm down and give him what he wanted. "Why are you - why are you being such a little b-bitch?"

Because  _Morty_ was being the bitch, with cuts and bruises and the bitter taste of betrayal on his tongue. Rick was getting bored and Morty already wanted to give in because it truly was testament to his intelligence that he was choosing to go against Rick Sanchez, but the notion was quickly trampled by anger that burned through his veins and set every nerve in his body alight. Rick's hands were down before Morty could blink and, out of instinct, he swung his fist.

It hit Rick with a sickening crack that forced his head to the side, making him stop and hold his cheek. A whirlwind of unnameable emotions crossed his face and Morty was  _afraid_.

Morty slid down against Rick's wall, anxiety and anger and fear swirling through his body, tugging on his heart strings and beating on his brain in a symphony of fearful regret. He buried his face in his knees, to try and stem the tears and to avoid the inevitable blankness that swept over Rick's face when someone tried to hurt him. Before he tried to hurt them back.

Morty had never gotten to hurt Rick before - he had imagined it, of course, but he had imagined he'd feel powerful and strong, finally in control and not the one that was always in pain, but this wasn't what he wanted. He was angry and sad and confused and he still  _hurt_  and it wasn't fair. That wasn't what he wanted and he wondered if he hurt Rick because he reacted or because he wanted the rush he only got seeing aliens dead at his feet.

"Wow," Rick finally said, voice gravelly and serious in a way it wasn't supposed to be, "didn't - I didn't think you were an abuser, Morty, that's seriously - that's low."

"What?" Morty's blood ran cold and he shivered in response, a full body shake that made tension pool in his gut, thick and heavy, "I'm not - I didn't abuse anyone."

He could hear clothes rustling, Rick's fingers tapping lightly on his bloodied knees, meaning Rick had crouched in front of him to box him in further. "I'm just an old man, Mort. I didn't do anything to you, I wasn't - nothing bad was going to happen to you, you hit me for no - for no reason, Morty."

Morty wasn't an abuser, he wasn't, he was  _good_ , and he was  _nice_  and that wasn't true because he was a killer and a criminal and Rick was always right. He hadn't meant to hurt Rick but he had dreamed about it before and he must have meant it because why else would it have happened? 

Rick was a liar and he was mean but Morty wasn't any better so how could he doubt him?

"You know what I think, Moooortyyyy?" Rick said, pushing his fingers through Morty's hair, unthinkingly rough, "I think I - you seduced me, just so you could - just so you could get your kicks by hitting grandpa."

Morty lifted his head so fast he thought he would snap his neck, almost hitting Rick in the nose as he pushed himself even further into the wall. "I never - I didn't-"

Tears were blurring his vision and he just wanted Rick to be nice to him again, and call him nice names because he was wrong. He was so, so wrong for being angry with Rick and he just wanted a nice grandpa.

~~_And maybe it hurt that he only got Rick's love one way but it was more than anyone else got_ ~~

"Sure you didn't," Rick said and he sounded so confident as he tugged on Morty's hair where his fingers were still tangled, forcing Morty to follow and stand, "stupid - stupid, little Morty, was that all a - was that all so you could manipulate me, Morty?"

Rick's hands were suddenly on his shoulders and Morty was illogically grateful that the man didn't let him go. 

"Why are you - why are you being so mean, Rick?" Morty said, choking on his words as a thousand excuses and apologies tried to bubble over, "I didn't mean to, I didn't - I didn't-"

He couldn't make Rick understand and he couldn't help but get angry at himself for getting himself into this situation and not being able to get himself out.

"Don't be a baby," Rick said, wiping roughly at Morty's eyes, "you gotta - you gotta solve your problems like a man, Morty."

"What-"

Rick's hands on his shoulders were too tight and forceful and he pushed so hard that Morty felt like a bug pinned to a board. "Wanna hit me, Morty?" Wanna hit grandpa?" Drool hit Morty's face and he would've cringed away if not for Rick grabbing his chin, broken nails and bony fingers bruising his jaw. Morty lifted his eyes to meet Rick's and he looked terrifying.

High and drunk, bordering on manic and Morty had hit him.

God, no wonder he had gotten hurt, Rick had taken him out while he was shit-faced. Morty didn't have time to wonder why he hadn't noticed (though he suspected it might have something to do with hand-shaped bruises on his thighs and waist) before Rick was shoving himself away from Morty to pace around the room.

"You could have killed me," Morty said, dropping his eyes, "I couldn't - I could have died, R-rick." 

Rick laughed, deep-bellied and cruel. It was at times like this that Morty wished Rick wouldn't drink as much but he probably wouldn't be Rick anymore. "W-wouldn't that be my - lucky me if that happened, huh?" 

The pit in his stomach was churning uncomfortably, no room left for any sadness or pain that comment might have left. Rick laughed again and he could feel the change, the pit draining out and replaced with complete and utter rage for the one man that mattered most to him (love or not he meant something) and he growled. Animalistic and furious, he snapped. "It's not funny, Rick!"

"W-what are you gonna do, Morty?" Rick said, a lilt to his voice that might have been playful if not for the intensity of his eyes, "gonna man up, Mort-Mort?"

Morty screamed, pressing his fists against his temples and scrunching his eyes shut, wishing Rick hadn't sound-proofed his bedroom and that his Mom would come take him away. Rick pushed at him again and Morty shoved back, hard. Rick stumbled back, laughing again like it was a joke, a fun game they had decided to play.

That was probably what it was to him but Morty was feeling every emotion under the sun and if Rick wanted Morty to hurt him he would gladly oblige.

"That it?" Rick said, "Is that all itty-bitty Morty can do?"

With a strangled cry, Morty jumped on him. His arms and legs flailed and hit wherever they cold and Rick just took it  _smiling._  "I hate you," Morty cried and it felt too empty to be true and too real to be fake, "I do, I do, I do, I do-"

"Nah," Rick grinned, mouth bloody and face swollen, "I won't let - you're too  _Morty_  to hate me."

Skin split and teeth cracked and Morty wanted Rick to stop him, to prove that he was more powerful than Morty because Morty didn't want to be an abuser, he didn't and Rick could stop him, Morty knew he could but he wouldn't.

 Morty eventually stopped hitting and just let himself stay still, draped over Rick's body, exhausted and sick. Maybe it was the haze of violence or a revelation from whatever God existed but Morty felt too calm, too numb and drained and something just clicked.

"You're just - you're just trying to make me like you," Rick didn't say anything but Morty felt him stiffen, "you're so - you're so sick of hating yourself that you think if you make me like you, you can just hate me instead."

It was quiet, too quiet, the tension in the air thick and heavy, tinged with numb acceptance. Morty didn't think he was wrong, but if he was right he wouldn't be able to stop Rick from succeeding and that didn't make him feel anything it should have. 

"You're stupid," Rick said finally, not moving, "so fucking stupid..."

"Am I - am I wrong?" Morty didn't want to be wrong because that was too hard to come up with and he needed a reason, something real to hold onto so he could remind himself every time he got too comfortable.

All Morty could think was that Rick was never normally this quiet. Rick couldn't be shut up on the best of days - he loved hearing himself talk, loved making everyone know just how smart he was. Morty always worried when he got quiet because that usually spelled danger for him in the worst of ways.

"Get out," Rick said, and he didn't move even as Morty peeled himself off him, cradling the injured parts of his body and leaving with many a second glance.

 

* * *

 

Morty was tired.

This had been going on for so, so long and he was so, so tired. He was young enough to at least try and fight back and old enough to know that it would never work. The numb acceptance he felt too much settled on his shoulders like a cold embrace. He shivered instinctively, and tried to ground himself in the anger he knew he could feel. He tried to cling to the flame but it danced and spun out of reach, the slight warmth that he couldn't reach making him feel colder.

He walked into the kitchen, needing something, anything, to fill that empty space inside him. 

"Oh my God," his Mom said, setting her wine glass down on the bench, "what happened, sweetie?"

"Rick let me drive the spaceship," Morty said, shrugging off her uncoordinated, worried hands, "I crashed."

She hummed, acquiesced. As always, she was tipsy and sure that her father would make everything right again. Morty wasn't surprised but he was disappointed nontheless. "Dad's alright, right? Make sure he looks after himself." A pause. "Get him to look at your stuff too alright, darling?"

"Yeah," Morty said. He wasn't hungry anymore, guilt gnawing at his gut instead. He couldn't decide whether he preferred it over nothing but it probably didn't really matter, "Of course."

He wouldn't want to crash and burn, after all.

 

* * *

 

Morty was okay.

Rick took him out for ice-cream. It wasn't good ice-cream - Morty found flies in his - but it was nice and different and not Rick-like, which he wasn't sure was good.

It was a school day and he was missing his history exam, but Morty had a feeling Rick wouldn't take no for an answer. It didn't help that Rick hadn't visited him at all the previous night, leaving him tossing and turning and worried that Rick would leave him forever and then where would he be?

He should have been grateful that he was left alone but his bed felt too cold and big and he had to cry because he had wanted this but now that he had it, it had been too much and not enough.

(And what if that did make him the abuser Rick said he was, him with his lanky body and too-big eyes, if he couldn't take one night of silent-treatment without needing Rick's attention and  _love_ because that's what filled him up when there was no anger or sadness left?)

They didn't talk, and Morty couldn't tell whether he prefered normal adventures to this, whatever it was - it felt like an apology and Morty desperately needed it to be one so he let it be enough. Rick hadn't healed his bruises (why, Morty knew he could, he had seen him do it before, why wasn't he), and Morty was overcome with a wave of guilt that carried Rick's accusations floating back to him on a dingy boat.

He  _was_ an abuser, and he had hurt Rick for something he should have been used to by now. He shouldn't have risen to Rick's taunting and he couldn't help the tears that fell silently (and he didn't know why he had to cry so much, what was wrong with him?). He half-expected Rick to yell at him some more, call him a manipulator or try and convince Morty to hurt him again but Rick stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry," Morty said and he sounded too babyish for his own good, "can you - are you going to be nicer?" Rick had to have slipped something in his ice-cream because he never wanted to ask Rick that, not ever because Rick didn't want to be reminded of how needy Morty was.

"That's not me being-" Rick said sharply. He paused, looking more sober than Morty had ever seen him, before  _softening_ and had he gone off with a clone? "-Sure. Whatever you want, baby."

There was definitely something in his ice-cream because his lips moved by themselves. "I don't want you to hate me."

"Yeah," Rick said and his voice was too soft, "me - me either."

Morty didn't know if he was lying or not but his skin was purpled with bruises and bags under his eyes and his coat was blood-stained like he'd slept in the same clothes and he hadn't reached for his flask once the whole trip. Something had changed and it was all his fault. He wished he could get used to nothing being the same but he needed something to keep him grounded and he didn't want Rick to take the one constant away.

Even if it covered him in an invisible layer of grime that showering couldn't wash off, even if his eyes hurt from crying and his lips hurt from-

They got home late in the afternoon and Morty hated himself for melting into Rick's hugs, hated himself for not crying and not being afraid but he needed Rick to love him because if he didn't then no-one would. It was sick and wrong and he didn't like it but it took so much effort not to when Rick looked at him like he was the whole world, and held him like he  _mattered._  

If he cried after, when Rick was asleep and curled around his body, pressed against bruises old and new, then that was his business. He didn't want to cry for Rick, not to him, and he tried his best to be happy that there was someone for him. It was better than being alone, and if that's what Rick needed to treat Morty like he wasn't a disappointment then Morty would try until the sun burned out.

He tried his best and it wasn't good, but it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> don't let this flop y'all.
> 
> comments and kudos and requests kick me into shape so feel free to do any ( or all ;) ) of them!
> 
> This was inspired by gubiegubes fic 'Travails of the Good Grandson' which is so good and you should definitely check it out! This is a gift now because I've drawn too much for it to be anything other than a quick tribute to a talented author :p


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